


Godsforsaken Night

by SpinachArtichokeDitz



Series: Bridging the Gap [3]
Category: Rune Factory 4
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Some Humor, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinachArtichokeDitz/pseuds/SpinachArtichokeDitz
Summary: “No... I can’t stand this back and forth anymore.” She hung her head, bracing her palms flat against his chest and sniffling. Her twintails drooped over her shoulders, their ends brushing the grass as she firmly maintained distance between them.
Relationships: Frey/Leon (Rune Factory)
Series: Bridging the Gap [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083023
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	Godsforsaken Night

**Author's Note:**

> Major Spoilers for Leon's Proposal Event
> 
> I always thought it'd be interesting if Leon had actually been IN LOVE with Maria (instead of the "little sister" situation that was a cop-out IMO). And what if there was only one letter--a letter that didn't provide him any closure, and in fact, made things even worse? I want to see what happens if Leon has to work through the loss of Maria himself (along with Frey's help, of course).
> 
> This won't be the last fic in the series that deals with the Maria issue, but definitely the only one that focuses on it. The first two were lighthearted, fluffy, and romantic, so I had to throw a wrench in it! But I will say this has several cute parts, as well as a happy ending~ it's not all angst.

The blue core suspended from his neck had become a smoldering coal, a scathing reminder of what he stood to lose--but shoving it in a drawer provoked his nightmares, it seemed, and there was no solace to be found. The visions were persistent again, taunting him with renewed intensity, and he hadn’t slept properly in days.

If his eyes shot open on overcast nights like this one, when the clouds obscured the moon and plunged him into darkness, he was entombed again. His extremities were made of lead, his lungs were deteriorating husks, and his eyes were endless voids, only capable of staring into themselves. His entire being was restricted by his sarcophagus, but his mind ran wild with thoughts of any place and person and emotion he had ever known, its musings inescapable.

Mercifully, his heart freed him from the throes of despair with its restless, frenzied pulse. It pounded in his ears like the beat of an erratic drum, slammed against his ribcage like a man imprisoned, and his blood rushed through his veins like a river surging into the sea. When it finally occurred to him that--were he trapped inside sarcophagus--his heart would be lying dormant, he implored himself to wake up. He persuaded his numb appendages to move, willed his trembling lungs to draw breath, and painstakingly conquered the illusion.

His inoperable muscles were tightly wound springs, but the second the tension was displaced, a burst of energy roused his limbs and he scrambled out of bed like it was aflame. He collapsed on his knees, unable to differentiate between past and present as he gasped for air. His memories blended, blurred, distorted until he doubted his own identity; his mind was reeling, suspended between two timelines. The floor was harsh and unforgiving as he met it in a heap.

He saw Maria’s face, but her smile was missing… Frey’s face, but her eyes were missing… the faces of his friends and family members, but he could no longer discern their features at all. The voice he heard--a jumble of ancient dialect--whose was it? Another that was too garbled to recognize; it was a woman’s voice, familiar and foreign all at once. A third, with a melodic lilt, made hot tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

Once his breathing slowed and his head stopped spinning, he struggled unsteadily to his feet. It was after midnight, so he stumbled downstairs and bathed--or meant to, but he did little more than submerge himself in scalding water until he was lightheaded and nauseous. He paced the vacant lobby until he surrendered to his body’s desperate cries for rest, and only then did he drag himself back up to his room. The sight of his bed crippled him with anxiety; it was in disarray as a result of his panic.

He sat with his back against the wall, gazing listlessly out the window until his eyes slammed shut and he slumped over.

_"Leo, wait… please don't shut me out,” she pleaded, gazing up at him with watery emerald eyes. He wanted to look away, but it wouldn’t be fair to disregard her pain--not after how selflessly she always shared in his._

_“I’m sorry, but I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while. I’ll make myself scarce so we don’t have to worry about running into each other.” He extended his arms, intending to embrace her before he left, but she stiffened and pulled away._

_“No... I can’t stand this back and forth anymore.” She hung her head, bracing her palms flat against his chest and sniffling. Her twintails drooped over her shoulders, their ends brushing the grass as she firmly maintained distance between them. She held that position, shaking with sadness or anger or both, staring at the ground while he watched helplessly. “Just--”_

_“Frey...” Gods, he never intended to hurt her so badly, and now he was incapable of comforting her. His words were as useless as his arms, which hung limply at his sides._

_“Just go!” The words exploded from her mouth with a strangled sob, and she shoved away from him before flying back to the castle._

He jolted awake, panting, and pounded his fist into the cold, unforgiving wooden floor. That moment tortured him enough as it was; he didn't need to relive it.

Distancing himself from Frey was undoubtedly the most difficult thing he had ever done. He made the decision to become a Guardian and leave Maria behind with scarcely a second thought, but that was because he felt he had no choice--saving Venti was for the greater good of everyone he knew back then, as well as future generations. If given another opportunity, he would make the same decision all over again, however painful it was for himself and Maria.

In this case, of his own volition, he was avoiding Frey. The fact that he could see her at any given moment, even just by walking downstairs and glimpsing her on the way to the bathhouse, was torturous. He paced his room, which was feeling smaller and more restrictive every day, instead of running to the castle and pleading for forgiveness. Even though he knew it hurt more than it helped, he read Maria’s letter repeatedly.

  
  
_Dear “You” Who Sleeps in the Tower,_

_I don’t know if you’ll ever find this, or if it will even last until the year you wake up, but it helps to feel like I’m communicating with you somehow._

_It’s been over a year since you went to sleep, but I’m already losing hope. I can’t bear the thought of you sealed in the tower, so I never go to the temple anymore--not even to pay my respects. I don’t visit Lady Ventuswill, either, even though I promised her I would. I hear that she’s stronger and more vibrant than ever, and I have no doubt it’s because of you. I’m glad that you were able to help save her, but I’m devastated all the same._

_Your family is well. They miss you, of course, but they’re even prouder than the day you became a priest. Sometimes I think I’m the only one who hasn’t accepted that you’re never coming back, at least not in our lifetimes. I keep wondering if you’ll wake up centuries from now, long after I’ve passed, and fall in love with someone else. I worry that you’ll forget what I look like (especially my smile), or even forget me completely._

_I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but none of this is fair. Even though you’re gone, I feel bound to you, and I think I always will. I can’t imagine that I’ll ever find love again. But when you wake up, you’ll be free to do as you please. You’ll have a new life and a fresh start without me. I know it’s selfish, but I can’t help wishing that you’ll long for me as I long for you._

_More than anything, I want you to wake up and walk through the door. I want to hear your laugh, even if you’re laughing at my expense. I want to feel secure in your arms again. We would have been married this month… do you remember the plans we made? I’m grieving all over again as the day approaches, and I’m not sure how I’ll get through it. I miss you more than words can express._

_With Love,_

_"She" Who Waits_

When he first read it, knowing he couldn’t remember her smile anymore, tears pricked his eyes and nausea gripped him. She definitely wouldn’t forgive him for that; she had specifically told him not to forget it on their last day together. He had pictured her smile as the Earthmate sealed him. When he woke up intermittently throughout the years, conscious but devoid of feeling, her face was the first image that came to mind.

How could he ever allow himself to forget? He knew that answer was complicated, and he forbade himself from wondering how Maria would react to Frey. He had only been awake for slightly over a year, and already her fears had been realized. Her words drowned him in shame and chilled him to the bone every time he reread them; her grief was palpable.

The unavoidable passage of time was cruel in its permanence, in its theft of memories and second chances. But even more than time itself, especially as he stared vacantly out the window again, he hated the middle of the night--when darkness and gloom ruled, and he wasn’t yet convinced the sun would reclaim its throne at dawn. The waxing moon wasn’t enough to relieve his apprehension, despite its undeniable majesty. It was too stark, too lonely, too revealing in its silence and opportunity for introspection.

Any other godsforsaken night, thoughts of Frey’s smile, laugh, embrace--and just recently, her kiss--would have grounded him. Simply picturing her face was usually the equivalent of being thrown a rope while dangling off a precipice. She was the reason he existed in that timeline at all, but more importantly, she was the reason he _wanted to,_ however guilty that made him feel.

When he thought of her now, he felt restless, incomplete, displaced… he didn't _belong_ without her by his side.

She had reluctantly allowed him the time and space he requested, but her need for an explanation had been written all over her sweet face for weeks, and the anxiety was eating away at him. His ability to read her, at that point, was second nature; he had spent far more time with her than anyone else in Selphia.

He knew, because he had continued to avoid discussing the letter, that she was upset and frustrated. When they did speak, her somber green eyes lingered on him, clearly swimming with questions and wondering if he would finally provide the answers. His indecision hung in the air between them like magical barriers, forcing them apart and deflecting reassurances that would have otherwise acted as a panacea.

He had already decided, of course, that they would discuss his past at length eventually. The only uncertainties had been when and how, but after that particularly sleepless night of unpleasant, frustrating rumination, he realized he was merely delaying the inevitable. The sooner he told her, the better--the less time she had to speculate and get her hopes up; the less time she had to dream.

Gods, she was worthy of so much more… more than he could ever hope to give her, despite how desperately he wanted to.

As summer hesitantly gave way to fall, its submission was so gradual that the temperature seemed to ebb and flow--mild warmth one day, a blast of autumn’s chill the next. The weather had been in a similar state when Frey woke him up the year before. He remembered being vaguely aware, as he regained some semblance of composure, that the seasons had also been in the midst of the same transition just before he slept. The pivotal moments in his life, when he underwent great transformation, seemed to occur at that particular juncture.

It felt suitable because, when summer relented, the earth was stripped bare. Greenery wilted and trees shed withered leaves, remaining dormant until the severity of cold and frost abated. They began anew, always, despite the struggle and hardship of starting from scratch--year, after year, after year. He would try to learn from nature’s perseverance, to take comfort in it, even as he was uprooted and overpruned once more.

It was still dawn and the pleasant, balmy air--the quarreling seasons were harmonious today, it seemed--was buzzing with locusts as he quietly left the hotel. In his haste, he had forgone his usual acts of vanity; he didn’t bother with anything more than his vest, pants, and sandals. His hair hung loose and untamed around his shoulders, far from its typically immaculate sleekness, and only subconsciously did he run his fingers through it.

The vacant street was blanketed in gray, misty fog as the sun just began to peek over the horizon, promising to spare the ground from its overnight chill. It reminded him of many an early morning spent with Frey, back when he mostly ignored the shadow looming over his shoulder, which only enticed it to grow.

It started on one of the countless days she brought him lunch that spring. He made a smart comment, to which she stomped her foot and glared at him--because, she said, that particular lamp squid had evaded her in Idra Cave for over an hour. It was her least favorite fishing spot; the air was stagnant and putrid with the stench of the residing goblins.

After he once again recovered from the shock of her graciousness--the hours she spent just to see someone’s face light up for a _moment_ \--he told her that lamp squid almost certainly spawned in more hospitable areas. Of course they both knew the elusive delicacies (only he held them in such high regard) were present in Dragon Lake, but actually catching them there was an infrequent surprise.

They explored before sunrise that entire week because, not only was it an ideal time to catch squid, but it was one of few openings in her grueling daily schedule. She practically dragged him out of bed each of those mornings and he was never fully awake until they left Selphia; hell, he probably wasn’t conscious at all several of those times. Apparently he became rather adept at sleepwalking while she skipped alongside him with all her boundless energy.

She was so adorably thrilled the morning they found it--the perfect fishing spot. It was on the southern edge of Sercerezo Hill, one of few areas she hadn’t explored yet. The lily pads were so broad that she could lie down on them with plenty of room to spare, and the placid lake they floated upon was shrouded in dense fog. She threw herself backwards onto one of the large aquatic plants, in the same way a person would fall backwards into bed, and the center bowed but only its edges were briefly submerged on impact.

She squealed with glee and he was mildly disappointed that the lilypad held her weight so easily, but it was equally entertaining watching her lie beneath the drifting fog. He was suspicious that monsters were also partially concealed nearby, so he carefully surveyed the area with his sharp eyes and ears. Nothing stirred, and he only relaxed once he was confident Frey wouldn't be ambushed.

Giggling and in awe of the fascinating landscape, she told him that lounging in the clouds wasn’t quite as exhilarating as soaring through them with Venti, but extremely relaxing. And of course, of _course_ , she insisted that he experienced it alongside her. ‘How many times have you floated on a lilypad in the fog?’ she asked, and when he boasted he had done so multiple times, she rolled her eyes before tugging him to the water’s edge.

Gods, she was strong, especially when she wanted to be. That amount of explosiveness in such a small package was dangerous--and exciting, and lovely, and endearing, and everything he wanted to hold onto and never let go. And so, with their fishing poles abandoned side by side in the grass, they each claimed a lilypad until the fog dissipated; they didn’t move until the sun forced them to squint and throw their hands over their eyes.

He loved her, then, so profoundly that it was painful to draw breath. His chest ached and he had to learn to breathe all over again, just like when he first awoke--until he turned his head and looked at her, with the lilypad smooth and waxy against his cheek, and his sentiment reflected in her radiant green eyes. Since the moment he met her, she soothed his soul in ways he couldn’t comprehend… and anyway, it was just as well that he couldn't.

In the present moment, as he pushed through the gate that was slick with morning dew, he knew he should have repressed those emotions from the start. He would have been wise to do _anything_ but pursue them; instead, he had explored their very depths, trying to grasp the sheer magnitude of what she meant to him. Selfishly, recklessly, he never discouraged her affection. He couldn't even manage to discourage himself.

The castle was aglow with soft white light, just enough to illuminate its elegant exterior and attract the occasional insect. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness beneath the twilight sky, and he could see well enough to pace along the perimeter of her expansive field. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long, since it was under rare circumstances that the sun rose before Frey. He stopped in his tracks and released a pent up breath when his ears twitched, picking up the sound of her door opening and closing behind her with a gentle _thud_.

He turned around and she froze, visibly paling when she spotted him. They approached each other almost cautiously, like one of them might spook the other. It had been several days since they last spoke, and he knew it had required extreme restraint on her part--it was just in her nature to be comforting and supportive. He had been too cowardly to face her, attempting to run away from problems that would never cease their pursuit, and his stamina was depleted.

“Leo… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.” She slowly reached out and took his hands, and concern was etched into her delicate features. He must have looked worse than he imagined, but she was somehow even more beautiful, despite the shadows beneath her eyes. She was having trouble sleeping, too, and he felt awful. She needed adequate rest more than anyone.

“No, you were right. Don’t apologize.” As hard as he tried, he couldn’t prevent sadness from lacing his voice, and she heard it because her eyebrows knitted together. He subconsciously stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs; being affectionate with her had become automatic and it would be an agonizing habit to break. “I’m the one who should be sorry, and I am. I should’ve given you an explanation weeks ago.”

"I'm so worried about you... I just want you to be okay." When he hesitated to reply, she squeezed his hands and stared into his eyes determinedly. Her own were glistening with unshed tears. “Whatever it is you're struggling with, please let me help you.”

“No one can help me in this case… not even you, the ultimate helper.” He meant for that comment to sound lighthearted, not hopeless, but he failed miserably. “It’s not a problem to be solved, unfortunately, because it’s rooted in the past. It’s a reality I have to live with.”

"There's got to be something I can do… maybe I can't help, but I can listen if you want to talk." It was plain in her expression, in the intensity of her gaze, how much she loved him.

He glanced down to escape her searching eyes, which were full of hope that he would come around. His guilt was suffocating as he idly watched the wispy fog creep around her slender legs, partially obscuring her worn boots from view. They were actually a newer pair and he remembered the day she crafted them; he had teased her about how shabby they would be in only a week’s time. He had been right, of course, but she was stubborn about throwing anything out that remained functional. She would only stop wearing them when they were beyond repair.

He was so tired, in body and soul, and it didn’t hit him until that moment--when she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. She was substantially smaller than him, but no less robust, so she didn’t falter when he unintentionally sagged against her. She squeezed him even harder, supporting him wholeheartedly as she always did… even though she was doubtlessly exhausted, too.

After a brief hesitation that he spent warring with conflicting emotions, his arms encircled her waist and he rested his chin on one of her already-overburdened shoulders. His weary blue eyes were half open as he stared across her field, admiring her prized crops--all so perfectly spaced with colors bright enough to be discernible in the lingering gloom. They almost seemed to repel the darkness, just like her.

A spontaneous idea struck him, in spite of the sorrow that surged through his veins like viscous, enfeebling poison, and he clung to it as surely as he clung to her. It was likely borne in the throes of his delirium--lack of sleep and misery were a harrowing combination--but he felt compelled to follow through, like it was the only thing that made sense to him in that moment. She was used to his antics by then, anyway.

He raised his head and gazed down at her, distressed to find that her beloved face was streaked with tears. Her bottom lip quivered when he reflexively brushed the moisture away and tenderly stroked her cheek. She was trying to absorb his pain, as usual, and thus she had comprehended the gravity of it; her glossy eyes were giving substance to his anguish. He wanted to absolve her of every last shard of it, but he feared that wasn’t possible yet.

Taking her hand, he led her to the expanse of plush grass on the opposite side of her field, then wordlessly sat amidst the pervasive fog. Tiny wildflowers were scattered around them, delicate petals sparkling with morning dew, and there wasn’t a weed in sight--how she found the time to meticulously comb the grass for weeds, on top of everything else, amazed him. She sank down alongside him without hesitation, still grasping his hand.

Her expression was poignant when he laid back on the grass, and she stared at him for a long moment before joining him. With their hands linked between them, they both watched the opalescent fog as it drifted above and around, enveloping them. The light mist against his skin was just barely tangible; it felt cool and strangely comforting. He could almost imagine they were back at the lake, laughing amongst the lilypads.

He gazed up at the sky as it boasted a wide range of pinks and purples, and Frey’s cluckadoodles broke the silence before he did. "That letter… it was written by someone I was close to."

“Oh, wow,” she breathed, pressing her soft cheek against his shoulder. “I can understand why you needed some time to yourself. That must have been shocking to discover.”

“Up until recently, I was comforted by remnants of my past, but…” His voice caught in his throat and once again, he only grounded himself with her help, tightening his grip on her hand. He forced the words out before he lost the courage to say them. “I was engaged to be married. The letter was from her.”

"Leo…” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, as gentle as the breeze that nudged the earthbound clouds along. “What was her name?”

He swallowed thickly, realizing he hadn’t actually spoken her name aloud since he last saw her… when they said their tearful goodbyes. Her face flickered in his mind’s eye--a glimpse of shy brown eyes, long black hair, and bronze skin--and he was upset that her features were less distinct every time he imagined her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Frey said earnestly, shattering the blurry image. “I just… even though I didn’t know her, she was--she _is_ \--part of you. I want to help you remember her, if I can.”

Once again, he was reminded of why he adored the woman beside him so very much, and he found himself idly caressing her hand. "Her name was Maria. I found comfort in the thought of her moving on without me, but… now that I’ve read her words, I’m not so sure she was able to.”

“I knew you gave everything up to save Venti, but I didn’t know one of those things was love,” she murmured sorrowfully.

"I’ve never regretted becoming a Guardian... you know that. Even after reading her letter, I still wouldn’t change anything. Had I stayed with her, the future would have been bleak.” He paused, sighing heavily, and his forceful exhale disturbed the fog hovering just above his face. “But knowing that she suffered in my absence, how can I possibly allow myself to be happy with you? That’s why I’ve been pulling away. It feels like I’m betraying her… dishonoring her memory.”

“But… wouldn’t she also be upset if she knew you finally woke up, only to live unhappily?” Now she sounded tentative, like she was wary of overstepping. Her warm breath puffed against his shoulder as she sighed, likely gathering her thoughts. “I’m sure she loved you, too, and when you love someone, you want them to be happy… even if it’s not with you.”

“That’s just it… she wrote that she couldn’t stand the thought of me falling in love with someone else. She even admitted that it was selfish of her to think that way, but I don’t know if she would forgive me. When I imagine her growing old all alone, I see the expression on her face just before I left. It haunts me.”

“I can’t imagine how you feel, but denying yourself happiness won’t change anything. I don’t want you to suffer, in the same way you didn’t want Maria to.”

“But she did suffer, and I don’t know how to come to terms with that. At least if I endure the same thing, I won’t have to live with the guilt, even if it means I never move on.”

“Leo…” She propped herself up on her elbow and tenderly met his eyes as she caressed his cheek. The simple touch comforted him beyond measure, and he cupped his hand over hers. “Maria passed away centuries ago, but for you… when you woke up, it must have felt like she was alive just the day before. You didn’t even have the chance to grieve her properly, along with the rest of your family and friends. You don’t have closure, so it’s no wonder you feel like you can’t move on.”

The fog dissipated as the field was saturated with sunlight, but he didn’t feel its warmth, and the darkness was no less oppressive. Her words struck him with the force of a blunt weapon and drove the oxygen from his lungs. The back of his throat ached and it hurt to swallow as he struggled to suppress an onslaught of tears, and he felt suffocated until he pushed himself upright. His hands were shaking as he fisted them in the grass.

“Are you okay?” She hastily sat up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, searching his eyes and frowning regretfully. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s--… gods, as many burial rites as I performed back then, somehow I never considered…” He chuckled in spite of himself, holding his face in his hands, baffled as it gradually progressed into irrational, nonsensical laughter. His shoulders shook and his chest heaved, and he vaguely registered the comfort of Frey’s reliable arms surrounding him. She was a protective shield as she rose to her knees, tucking his head beneath her chin and splaying her hands across his back.

At some point his near-hysterical laughter dissolved into tears, which dampened the crook of her neck as he buried his face in it. She remained steadfast, an anchor tethering him in place, mercifully preventing him from drifting off and spiraling into the abyss--even as the sun shone down on them at last, the time she reserved for morning chores wasted away, and her impatient buffamoos stomped their hooves in demand of fodder.

“It’s going to be all right,” she soothed as she lovingly stroked his hair, and he only started to believe it because _she_ was saying it. She had never given him false hope before; she took the binding power of words as seriously as he did. “We’ll have a memorial service for Maria and your family, if you want. It can just be you and me; no one else has to know about it.”

He choked out a sob as a sensation of immense relief washed over him, and he felt cleansed of the bleakness that pervaded him. However temporary it was, he was thankful for the chance to catch his breath, to hold his head above water before grief cruelly held him under again. He didn’t realize how desperately he needed someone to acknowledge Maria and his family until that moment, nor how much he longed to tell them all goodbye properly.

How did Frey seem to hold the solution to everything in her benevolent hands?

His vision was still blurry as a result of both fatigue and tears, but she helped him stand and guided him to the castle. He immediately noticed the scent of apple pie as she opened the back door, so she had probably baked at least a dozen the previous night. When something was troubling her, she stress-baked instead of slept.

“I’m responsible for all those pies, aren’t I?” He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and yawned so deeply that it almost hurt.

“It’s okay. You made Clorica and Dolce happy.” Her boots echoed across the tile floor as she led him through the front room, and he heard the smile in her voice. She could find the good in anything.

“You need your rest, though.”

“You’re the one who needs rest,” she commented worriedly as they entered her bedroom, which was decorated in soothing shades of blue and green. It was about as lavish as he expected, considering the rest of the castle, and definitely fit for a princess--besides the clutter, but it wouldn’t be Frey without clutter. “You’re having nightmares again.”

He didn’t feel the need to confirm or deny what she already knew, so he was quiet as she folded the sheets down on her bed and gently guided him to sit on the edge. Even if he wasn’t sapped of energy, he knew resistance was futile, so he kicked off his sandals and let her ease him backward onto the cushiony mattress. She tucked a ridiculously soft pillow beneath his head and drew the silken sheets around him, smiling sweetly all the while.

He had never visited her bedroom before, and he had envisioned occupying her bed for the first time under _drastically_ different circumstances.

“Comfy?”

“I feel like I’m being eaten by a giant marshmallow,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed.

“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. It feels exactly like that,” she giggled, sitting beside him on the edge of the decidedly-comfy bed. Watching her face light up immediately lifted his spirits, and he basked in her radiant glow before turning to a more serious topic.

“Frey.” 

“Yeah?”

“The reason I came here this morning…” He knew what he needed to say, but his muddled brain took several seconds to properly arrange the words. “I was going to tell you not to wait, and now I’m even more inclined to because of what you said--I want you to be happy, even if you find that happiness with someone else.”

“What shouldn’t I wait for, exactly?”

“Me. My ability to truly be with you--with my entire being… for my mind to catch up to my body, in a sense, because it lost its way somewhere between then and now.”

“You’re right here in front of me, and that’s good enough,” she replied firmly, snatching one of his hands and clasping it between her own. His gaze flickered between their hands and her resolute expression, wondering how she could possibly be satisfied with him in his current state. “I’ll never just stand aside and wait--you know me better than that. I want to be here for you.”

“I know, but you don’t need any added stress,” he insisted with a shake of his head, familiar with her penchant for diving head first into everything. She always spread herself too thin. “You’re carrying the brunt of Selphia’s responsibilities as it is.”

“Not by myself! You’re helping me carry the heaviest parts. You’re always the first person I go to when I’m struggling.” Her eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears, and she sniffled in an attempt to keep them at bay. She was gazing at him with such intense sincerity that his heart stuttered. “I wouldn’t have made it this far, if not for your support. So why would I leave your side when you’re struggling the most? I _won’t._ ”

“Frey--” Her name had barely left his mouth when she pressed a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him, and he listened with wide eyes.

“There’s absolutely nothing you can say that will change my mind. I love you so I’m going to support you in return, as much as I can, whether you like it or not.” She only lifted her finger from his lips once she finished speaking, then stroked his cheek instead, and he felt himself flush. Normally he would make a flippant comment to mask his embarrassment, but between the squishy bed and her affectionate touch, he felt uncharacteristically subdued.

“I don’t deserve you, princess,” he murmured, followed by a heavy sigh as he yielded. There was a reason Venti had chosen her to lead Selphia, and it wasn’t just because she was an Earthmate. When she was passionate about something--which was often--her heart ignited and the flames flickered in her eyes. Her enthusiasm couldn’t be extinguished.

“It was _you_ who told me this: it’s not about whether you’re deserving of something or not; what’s important is that you don’t feel entitled to it… and that you’re grateful for it.” She shot him a smug little grin, and he responded in kind. It felt nice to smile again, especially with her.

“So you do take me seriously, after all.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I may have neglected to mention this before, but it’s also crucial to note that everyone is inherently deserving of _respect_ ,” he replied pointedly, narrowing his eyes, but his sudden yawn rendered his glare ineffective.

“Respect, huh?” She giggled as she stroked his hair away from his face, smoothing it over his shoulder, and her touch was so relaxing that his eyes drifted closed. “You’re a great role model as far as showing respect goes. I’m sure Venti can vouch for that, as well as nearly everyone in town.”

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue...” He was _so_ tired, in fact, that he wasn’t even certain those words actually left his mouth.

He slept for 12 blissful hours without a single disturbance, and he probably would have slept even longer, but the distinct aroma of grilled trout coaxed him awake.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed it even though it was angsty. You need angst to appreciate the fluff! And I have lots more fluff planned, so don't worry~


End file.
